there is a better grip on all those
that we have not seen
we hope for what is not yet here
strange matters of these hands
the past had always been different
the future doubtful
what is here always teaches us
mixed up, we cry we smile,
sometimes we are frozen
then thawed and so fluid
then we are happy we are blinded
moves on with nothing but feelings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem